Chapter 122: "Oh~" (R-18)

"Ohh~" Janet whimpered. It was soft, like she was trying to swallow it. But he caught it.

"You’re getting there," he said, more breath than sound. "But don’t move faster. Don’t even think about your clit yet."

His tone shifted slightly—commanding now.

"I want you to do something for me."

A beat.

"Take your other hand, the one not between your thighs, and press it against your chest. Right between your breasts. Can you feel your heartbeat?"

Another pause. He imagined her palm sinking into her soft chest, pressing through lace or cotton or bare skin.

"Yesss~" She answered softly.

"Good. That’s your rhythm. That’s the pace you need to follow."

He took a breath, steady and long.

"Match it. One stroke on your pussy every time your heart beats. No faster."

Her breathing now? Ragged. Deep. Each inhale shaking like it was climbing uphill.

"You feel that?" he whispered. "The burn building in your stomach? That’s good. That’s your nerves waking up. You’re not touching yourself anymore. You’re

listening

to yourself."

She let out a small moan—real this time, helpless and soft.

Eros smiled.

"You’ve never been coached, have you?" he asked gently. "No one’s ever told you what your body needs. What she likes. What makes her

sing

."

He shifted slightly, his own arousal throbbing in sync with hers, but this wasn’t about

him

. Not yet.

This was her concert.

He was just the conductor.

"You’re going to edge yourself now," he said softly. "You’re going to keep stroking just like I told you—slow, deep, wet. And when it gets too much? When your body starts twitching, crying out for release?"

He paused.

"You’re going to stop."

*

She was shaking.

Not just from nerves—but from

heat

. From the voice curling around her like silk dipped in fire. His words weren’t just sounds; they

pulled

her—like invisible strings hooked under her skin, tugging her deeper into something she couldn’t even name.

His voice dripped through the wall like a drug, warm and slow and terrifyingly sure.

And she obeyed.

Every word.

Her fingers had stopped their clumsy rush, stilled just like he told her. Her thighs quivered slightly, parted under the hem of her skirt as she dragged her breath in—slow, shallow, then again, longer, softer.

Her other hand, the one she didn’t even realize was clenched, slowly moved to her chest.

Right where he told her to.

Her palm pressed between her breasts—right over the racing pulse hammering beneath her sternum. It was wild. Messy. Loud. But his voice made it feel... guided. Like he was taming the chaos inside her.

"Match it," he’d said.

So she did.

One slow, wet stroke between her folds for every beat she felt against her chest.

Her fingers slid upward—slick with her own arousal of her pussy—then back down again, just as slow. No rush. No pressure. Just the maddening tease of contact. She followed his rhythm exactly: one throb, one stroke.

And holy

hell

—it felt better than anything she’d done to herself before.

Because this time?

She wasn’t

doing

it.

She was being led.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was how

intimate

this felt. How seen she felt—despite a wall between them.

No man had ever talked to her like that.

No one had told her about the clitoral legs, or the inner lips, or that soft ridge between folds that was lighting up her nerves like they’d just been plugged in. No one had ever cared to teach her

how

to enjoy herself.

But he did.

Eros did.

And he wasn’t even touching her.

"Mmm~" She let out a soft moan, one hand pressed against her chest, the other now sliding just a bit deeper—still slow, still obedient.

Her hips twitched forward slightly, her body desperate to push into her own fingers.

Then—

"Stop," he said through the wall.

Her fingers froze.

"I know what you’re doing," he murmured, low and hot and so damn patient. "You’re getting greedy."

She bit her bottom lip, embarrassed at how accurate he was.

"Stay on the edge, Janet," he continued. "That’s where the real power lives. That flutter in your stomach? That heat that just

barely

dips into your thighs? That’s the zone. Touch your clit too early and you ruin it. Tease it, though..."

His breath deepened audibly.

"...and I promise, your body will come harder than it ever has."

A tiny whimper escaped her lips before she could swallow it. Her fingers were slick, trembling slightly, just resting against herself now, still aching to slide higher.

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her.

"Say it," he ordered gently.

Her lips parted, dry.

"I—I’ll stay on the edge," she whispered.

"Good girl," he purred.

Her heart fluttered.

"Now," he said, softer now, coaxing, "trace the folds again. Find that spot just beneath the clit—where the outer lips part and the skin feels paper-thin. Sensitive, right? That’s where the clitoral hood meets the shaft underneath. Stroke there. Light. Feather soft."

She followed.

And

god

, he was right.

A gasp burst from her mouth before she could stop it. Her knees buckled slightly, thighs trembling. That pressure in her stomach returned—deeper, more intense, but still dancing just out of reach.

"Feel that lightning?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes," she breathed.

"I want you to keep playing there until your thighs start shaking."

She bit down on her lower lip and did exactly that. One touch. Then another. Each one coiling heat lower and lower into her belly. Her body was

begging

now—her muscles tightening with every soft stroke. She felt like a balloon stretched too tight, floating just before the pop.

And the whole time?

He stayed silent.

Letting her

need

rise.

Letting her imagination do the rest—picturing his fingers instead of hers. His eyes watching her fall apart. His hands replacing hers, voice in her ear, lips on her neck, breath hot against her skin as he whispered

"not yet."

Her hips bucked—one jolt—and she nearly cried from how close she was.

"Eros," she gasped.

"Mm?" he hummed through the wall, calm as sin.

"I—please—can I... touch my clit?"

He was quiet for a breath.

Then: "You want to come, Janet?"

"Yes," she whimpered.

"You want me to

let

you?"

"Yes—please—please."

And then came his voice, darker now. Commanding.

"Then beg me properly."

"Eros..."

"Mmm?"

Her eyes were closed, her body limp—but her voice still carried.

"Please... come in."